


Guilt Is a Rope That Wears Thin

by susiephalange



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alien Abduction, Angst, Baby Groot, F/M, Fandom Allusions & Cliches & References, Feels, Female pronouns, Female!Reader - Freeform, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, No Spoilers, Outer Space, Post-Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Post-Movie: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, Pre-Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (2017), Returning Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-10-23 17:33:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10723983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: Abducted by aliens, traded between Ravager factions, and taken in byThe Guardians of the Galaxy. Now that's something that you can add to your resume. Or, alternatively, you make friends with a guy who also was abducted by aliens, and become Team Mom™ to everyone on The Milano.





	1. life can only be understood backwards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lovely13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovely13/gifts), [Katie Elle](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Katie+Elle).



> Last night I went out to see the late night viewing of the new movie with my sister, and I felt the need this morning to get out my feelings in fan-fic form. There aren't any spoilers, so it's okay to read if you haven't seen _Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2_. Anyways! On with the fic!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a good life, being an American who isn't aware of life in outer-space. Until you're in outer-space. Abducted. And _very_ aware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realise that I hadn't written a Quill fic on here? So my intrusive thought said to myself, _um, rude **!!**_ and well, I got to work!

Your heart is racing even before you open your eyes. It’s like you know you’re not in your bed, surrounded by your nerd paraphernalia in the college dorms, hell, it’s like you know you’re not even on the same planet as Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Maybe that’s because you can smell something that’s completely _not_ of Earth, and can hear chatter that sounds just so alien. When you do open your eyes, it’s like you’ve woken up somewhere amidst a Star Trek convention – standing above you are figures that look like masterpieces of an over-timing makeup department and CGI. But they’re all real, because the blue man with a metal headpiece is staring deep into your soul, his mouth agape to show jagged teeth.

“She’s awake,” His voice sounds like it’s from the south, but his body just reminds you of frat boys who paint themselves for big games. Your heart hasn’t stopped it’s thumping, and almost whimpering, he sees how afraid he is. “Damn, someone get Quill before this Terran frightens herself to death.”

You swallow, wondering what a quill was, and if by ‘Terran’, he meant you, because honestly, you felt like this was a major drug dream. Wondering if your roommate had dosed you on acid, you see a human-looking guy appear, slightly older than you.

“Hey, hey, don’t freak out,” he bends, kneeling to your height, his hands raised. “I’m Peter. Peter Quill. You’re probably –,” He pauses, and shoots the aliens and creatures around him a glare, “Can we have some space? Yondu?”

The blue man, Yondu, nods. “C’mon boys, fun’s over. Leave these Terran’s to their talk.”

The crowd dissipates, leaving you and the guy named Peter there on the floor of what seems to be a real clunker of an area. “Where am I?” You ask him. “I – I was at college yesterday, I went to sleep in my bed, but –,” you catch your breath, eyes flittering over the area you’re in. “This is a dream. A prank. Did Lincoln put you up to this?” You demand, sitting up.

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t know anyone who’s called Lincoln, unless you’re talking about Abraham,” he cracks a little smile. “We intercepted a ship who had, ah, abducted you. You’re not on Earth anymore.”

Your heart skips a beat. Well, that was confirmed, then. “If I’m not on Earth, where am I?” You ask him. “Don’t tell me I’m on the moon. I’m not up for any _Doctor Who_ crap.”

The little smile on his face widens. “I remember that show! It’s still running?” He asks you.

You blink. “I’ve just been abducted, _by aliens_ , am currently at pissing-my-pants scared, and you, are asking me if a British TV show is still running?” You state the facts. “Yeah, it’s still running. They’re up to the twelfth doctor now.” You take a shaky breath, and add, “I’m _________. We’re in a spaceship, aren’t we?”

He grins, and extending a hand, adds, “Great to meet you, _______. If you’d like to come with me, I’m going to take you to a, ah, less crowded place.” Standing, you follow him on unsteady legs from the place you had woken up, traversing the halls of the spaceship behind his footfall. “I was abducted, back when I was a kid. I grew up out here, with Yondu and everyone. I guess that’s a terrible way to relate to another person, but, hey, it’s all we’ve got to go on.” He flashes you a sad smile over his shoulder. “Ah! Here we are. Gamora, she’s awake!”

As if you’d not had a terrible enough day already, you had to be introduced to more aliens. In the room, were the most rag-tag band of people – well, two of them looked like people. One looked like one of the trash pandas who’d rummage through your mother’s garbage at home, and the other like a little sprout…like a tree man. Baby. The lady with green skin, and purple hair eyes you, almost inspecting every molecule you’re made of before she strides forward to shake your hand.

“I am Gamora,” she nods, “It’s not like we needed another mouth to feed, but you look like you are a fighter, and are welcome here.”

You feel your face pale, your hand slackening in her grip. “Fighter? I did not sign up for this shit, I’m terrible at fighting!” You turn to Peter, a panic falling over you. “I’m studying theoretic physics, not intergalactic _Fight Club_!”

“Ha!” The man the colour of a pale chalk board covered in red markings belted out a laugh which almost made you pee a little in fright. “This is a woman of honour, revealing her strengths! I like her.”

The raccoon gave him a side-eye glare. “Shut it, Drax.”

You take a deep breath, but Peter Quill interrupts you, butting in. “Will everyone just take a breath, and maybe give _______ some space?” He turns to you, and gives a sad smile. “We’re leaving Yondu’s ship in the morning, but before we can drop you back home, we’ve got a mission that needs completing.”

The little tree person nods. “I am Groot.”

The racoon rolls his eyes. “What do you mean, _if she even wants to go home_? Of course she does, she’s quaking in her bunny slippers.”

You can’t help but glance down at that, but you’re not wearing bunny slippers. You’re not even wearing shoes. Just fluffy bed socks, and the oversized Stevie Wonder shirt you wear to bed. How on Earth did you get abducted by aliens and all that shit _in your pyjamas_?

“I am Groot!” He intones.

“It doesn’t matter if she looks like a good place for a nap,” He translates, sounding irritated. “Oh, so now I’m not the person you like napping on now. Fine. Nap on someone your own size.”

The pair of them walk off, leaving you, Quill, Gamora and Drax standing there. “By fighter, you didn’t mean like, a hero for hire sort of thing, did you?” you ask Gamora, breaking the silence that was left without the bickering twig and raccoon. “I’m sorry I overreacted, I’m just, like, really scared right now. Wish I had my iPod.” You add, thinking of the 250 tracks on your laptop back in the dorm room.

“iPod? Sounds like an escape mechanism.” Drax muses. “I should like to get one of those. Then I will be able to escape all danger with it.”

You clear your throat. “No – it’s more like, ah, portable music. A Walkman?” Under your breath, you add, “These guys are from outer space, nobody has a Walkman out here.”

Peter grins. “I do! I have two tapes.”

 

* * *

 

It’s eight months later when you realise that you still haven’t been delivered back to your boring old life back on Earth. But you’ve been busy, flying around outer space with the guys who everyone calls _The Guardians of The Galaxy_ (pretty bomb-ass name, - better than _The Avengers_ , but that was you probably being biased because they’d destroyed your favourite café in the Battle of New York), kicking ass, taking names.

You’re more like the planner for their missions – while they’re just doing hero stuff, you’re organising their schedules, making sure The Milano doesn’t run out of fuel, cleaning Drax’s knives after battles, putting all the bombs and doodads Rocket leaves out away in their place. You even take care of Gamora, making sure she’s okay with all the nightmares of Thanos, and eating right.

It’s a long shot from theoretical physics, but when you’re not the Team Mom™ you’re working out equations with textbooks you find at junker stops, and papers that alien academics had written on the subject (thank goodness someone invented translation devices, because otherwise you’d be left staring at scribbles all day). If you ever make it back to Earth, you’re sure going to give the scientists Dr Banner and Stark a run for their money.

But at the moment, the team are between missions, and you’re lying on the lounge with Quill, sharing an earbud each to listen to his tunes. They’re old, but you’re not complaining. It’s not like you miss modern music, it’s all just the same riffs anyways.

“Sorry we never got around to bring you back home to Earth,” he turns to you just as the song _Mr. Blue Sky_ ends. “Not to brag or anything, but the team is much better with you around.”

You can’t help but laugh. “‘ _Not to brag_ ’ ... dude, you realise that every time you start a sentence with that, you’re bragging?”

Peter chuckles at that. “Yeah, I guess so.” He glances to the tape, and pausing the next track before it begins, he sits up a little. “Don’t like, deck me, but it’s great having you out here with us, and youdon’teverhavetoleaveifyoudon’twantto.”

You frown. “What? I didn’t catch that.”

He sighs. “_______, you don’t ever have to leave if you don’t want to. I’d miss you a heap if you left, and that’s saying something because a butt-load of people I know have left me and I didn’t really miss them until too late. And you’re cool and stuff, and make jokes and you’re like, super smart.”

“Is this you coming onto me, Peter?” You’re half incredulous, because you’ve seen how smooth he is with other people and flirtation. “Or are you just listing all my good attributes like, like a job offer, or something?”

He nods. “Something like that.”

You can’t help but laugh. “I don’t think there was ever really a place for me back on Earth. I had to fight for everything as best as I could to get where I needed to be, and even then, I couldn’t stop fighting until I got it. Hell, even my own parents decided my brother was better than me, and so I did all I could to beat him and get into the best college in the country, get the best marks. But no, he was still the golden boy.” You grit out. It’s been a while since you’ve dwelled about life before you were abducted, but once you’re starting, you can’t seem to stop. “If anything, I’ve really found something worth it out here. And I don’t have to compete. I’m just … me.”

Peter looks almost relieved at your words. “That’s rough, buddy.”

You laugh. “Nice _Avatar_ reference, Star-Lord. But I still want to go to Earth. Just, you know, grab a fresh change of clothes, give my parents the middle-finger, pick up my limited-edition comics.” You skip a beat, and add, “You can even get some more tunes!”

He hesitates. “I…I never told you how I was abducted, did I?”

You shake your head. “I took it as a no-go zone.”

Peter takes a deep breath. “Yondu picked me up on Earth on the day that my mother died. Ever since, I’ve just thought of it as the place where she died, but … if I go back there, I know I’m going to be disappointed.”

You frown, your hand seeking out his to hold it. “How so?”

“Because … nobody will remember her like I do. She’ll just be, you know … another grave in the ground.” Your hand tightens around his, and he squeezes back. “I know, sounds pathetic.”

You shake your head. “No, it doesn’t. It’s like … I know how it feels. When my brother drowned, everyone mourned like they’d lost the moon, like it was gone, no more moon. I realised that when he died, that I was the asshole because all he’d done was existed, and I’d done all I could to one-up him. It never worked, Peter,” you tell him. “If I could go back in time, I’d just once sit down with him, and give him the biggest goddamned hug. It wasn’t his fault he was loved. It wasn’t my fault I wasn’t.”

You feel a tear fall from your eye, but before it can hit the lounge, Peter wipes it away. “Let’s go back to Earth.” He whispers. His face is so close to yours, you can count ever freckle, see every line on his face. “It’s about damn time we get closure.”

You sniffle, leaning your forehead against his, “Hear, hear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the fic so far!


	2. but it must be lived forwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After agreeing to return, the team decides to dock on Terra, leaving the pair of you time to finally slow down enough to grieve for what was left behind on Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I've realised that this has been months since I promised a second part, but truly, I've had a lot on my mind, and not enough time to feel where this one was headed. And yes, I've been writing other fics around this time too, but I decided to let this one lay. While sometimes I write with a scaffold, to plan my fics, most of the time I just let my fingers loose on the keyboard, and it comes to light. So while this _is_ late, I hope you can appreciate how much effort I've put into this part. In the words of Ron Swanson from _Parks & Recreation_: "Never half-ass two things. Whole-ass one thing." 
> 
> Enjoy the fic, my lil' internet explorers!

Your heart is racing even before the doors to the Milano open. It’s like you know _this is it_ ; after some convincing to the rest of the crew, and another Galaxy-saving gig later (and an asshole named Ego) you’re in the atmosphere of Earth. Peter and Rocket have landed the ship in the wilderness of upstate New York, in a place where nobody in their right mind would build anything. But still. It’s Earth, and it seems like years since you’ve been here. But the doors are opening, but instead of being greeted by the quiet whistling of wind, the swaying of trees, there are figures.

 “Don’t shoot!” Peter raises his hands, the rest of the Guardians following his actions, including you.

But these figures are familiar from what you remember on TV, and taking your Quad Blaster from your belt, you lower it to the floor of the ship, and tentatively step forward. “Not to be a cliché, but we come in peace,” you tell the masked face of the Iron Man himself.

“Last time we had aliens, they didn’t speak English,” the guy with an arrow pointed at your head, Hawkeye notes. “Your accent, you’re from Ohio?” 

You nod. “Yeah, Cheviot, and he’s from Colorado.” You motion to Peter Quill. “But mostly from outer space,” you glance to Gamora, Drax, Groot and Rocket, who all looked a little odd in Earth terms.

Hawkeye nods, and lowers his arrow. “Yeah, they’re good. I grew up in Iowa.”

Captain America waves a hand, essentially shushing the archer from gushing about the glory and advantages of regional living. The blonde all-American cleared his voice, almost making you wonder if the next statement would be a declaration of independence or something, but it was a comment. Simple. “You’re not here for any sinister business?”

Iron Man’s face mask raised, revealing the face of the guy with a tower and a few billion dollars to his name. Rocket gave a laugh, and turning to shush him too, the raccoon strutted out beside you, cocky as always.

“If we were here to raise a little hell, we’d come in with a little more flair, don’t you think?” He snarked Stark.

The woman standing beside him opened her mouth, no words. It was then you realised that these people had never seen a raccoon talk, and that she was the redheaded super spy. Ms. Romanov. You give a wave to her, pushing past Rocket to diffuse the tension. “Hey! I’m a huge fan, I used to have your action figure.” You shoot Rocket a glare, and one to Gamora and Drax as if to say _please shut him up before we’re under arrest for being illegal aliens!_ and add, “Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark, please. We only plan to be here a short while.”

“I am Groot,” Groot speaks up.

Gamora lowers her arms, and crosses them across her. “Yes, Groot, you can put your arms down. Mine are getting tired to, with all this surrender.” Captain America and Iron Man share a glance, not knowing what to make of what they’d just seen, with the green woman speaking to a tree. She motions to Drax, and the rest of the team. “We will take a short while here on your planet, we have many things we need to do in space.”

Drax nods. “We are the Guardians of The Galaxy, and if you do not allow my good friend _____ and Peter to grieve, I will resort to violence.” He stares down the Avengers, his warrior-race instincts taking over again.

“How about we let you off easy?” Iron Man gives an uneasy grin. It’s a somewhat good thing for his wellbeing, not fighting Drax on it. “Go take care of your business, have a holiday.”

Peter mouths some thanks, while you turn to Black Widow once again, “If you’ve got spare time, I’d love to learn some of your tricks!”

* * *

The Avengers lend you and Peter a Quinjet. Deciding it’s for the best, you leave Drax in charge of Rocket and Groot, and Gamora in charge of them all, staying behind in the Avengers base not too far from where the Milano landed. But you and Peter are flying in stealth mode with Clint manning the aircraft toward Peter’s hometown in Colorado. For the most of it, Hawkeye is silent, tremendously professional. But when Peter cracks a joke, the two of them get along like peanut butter and jelly, leaving you smiling at Star-Lord’s banter.

But before too long, you’re landing in Colorado, the ship landing quietly (a new sensation!) for a change, and following Peter out, to a small building a way out from town. The man who answers the door is elderly, with snow white, thinning hair. But his eyes, they looked just like Peter’s, and teared up at the sight of him.

“Pete?” Mr. Quill asks.

He nods, “Yeah, it’s me, Granpa.” Feeling like a sore thumb, you turn to leave the two by themselves, but Peter takes your hand, and shares a smile with you. “Granpa, this is _____. I ran away from home, and she helped me find my way back.”

The old man smiles, waving you all inside. His house is small, the décor still styled as if the 80’s had never gone and passed, with the La-Z-Boy thatched up in places where the material had worn away, some places worn down, and no patches in place yet. A radio was on the fireplace, playing an old Elvis song, and in the kitchen in the corner, a kettle was whistling.

“You disappeared,” Peter’s grandfather shakes his head, pouring coffee in four mugs. It’s been years since you’ve had a coffee, your mouth watering at the delicacy. Beside you, Clint is silent. “Nobody knew where you went. Had me worried sick for years…”

Peter nods. “Sorry, Granpa,” he looks like he hasn’t ever really thought about the people he left behind when Yondu abducted him. “I –,”

You move to help Mr. Quill with the coffee, pouring milk into Peter’s cup. “Your grandson can’t stay long, I’m sorry,” you tell him softly, making sure he can read your lips. “The stories that Meredith told about Peter’s father, they were true,” you tell him. “We fly among the stars and save people who were left without saviours,” you confess, adding sugar to your cup.

Mr. Quill nods. “I suppose Earth was never going to be enough for you, Pete. You were always fightin’ for good, before you even knew it. Your Mom would be proud of you.” As you all go to take the coffees outside to the front porch to drink on the chairs, Peter smiles. It’s a lovely smile, a true smile. “Love you, Pete.”

* * *

It’s hard to tear the Quill’s apart, especially from his mother’s urn on the mantelpiece (“ _Keep Ma safe, Granpa, I’ll come back, I promise_ ,”) but in the afternoon before returning to the state of New York, there’s one more stop. You all land just out of Cincinnati, in the national park. From what intel Clint had on your parents, they were living not too far from your childhood home in Ohio, and all three of you were walking there. Unlike earlier in the day when you exited the Quinjet easily, your feet feel like lead, your stomach heavy, yet feeling empty, hollow.

“Hey,” Peter senses your uneasiness, interlocking his fingers with your own. “Nervous?”

You nod, and expelling a breath you’d been holding in, you whisper, “Did I tell you why he drowned?” Peter shakes his head. “I only got into medical school by scholarships, and all the money was spent on dad. We couldn’t afford to learn to swim,” you swallow, feeling small like a child once again. “There’s a creek down the way, and he’d been hanging with the wrong kind of people. The police I.D.’d the body as him, sure, but he’d been off his face with drugs…I was supposed to be looking out for him that night. He snuck out.”

“We’re here,” Clint beams, looking up from his phone’s map. “Want me to knock, or you?”

“I’ll knock,” Peter offers, releasing your hand to approach the door up the little path. It was nothing like you grew up in, but still, it was a nice place. Nicer than what you put up with. The moment his fingers land on the doorbell, it opens to an unfamiliar face. A woman. “Mrs. _____?”

She laughs. “Ha! I wish.” She flips her hair, her fake nails catching in the synthetic material, and yells, “Martin! Some people here for you!”

There’s a shout back, a thunder of footsteps. “What?”

You wince. You remember your father had a lot of people come through the door, and not all of them were friendly faces. The woman who looked like she owned the place (but probably didn’t) was most likely one of these people. Shouting was a huge part of your childhood, and probably why you strove to be better than your brother, who was never yelled at.

The screen door opens, revealing your father. He doesn’t seem to have aged a single day, despite the grey hairs by his ears, and the tattoo on his collar, peeking out from the singlet. At first, his eyes see Peter, and Clint, and frowns, but then he sees you. “_____?”

You nod.

You notice the crow’s feet on the corner of his eyes, the bags under them, the poor pallor to his skin. You might feel it inside your pitiful heart to offer to stay behind on Earth to make sure he keeps out of trouble. But you’re a Guardian of The Galaxy, and you tend to things greater than your old life, and the thought passes as soon as it comes.

“They said you’d died,” He frowns. “One day at medical school, next…gone.”

You nod once again. “I was abducted.” Deciding to leave the ‘ _by aliens_ ’ part out, you add, “I didn’t want to come back to see you, but I had to. I keep thinking of Chip.”

His face softens, taking years off his appearance. “I haven’t been the greatest parent, I know. Ever since losing your Mom, I thought I’d never be straight again. Losing Chip almost killed me, but…thinking I lost you?” You’re not sure if there’s a hitch in his voice, or maybe you heard wrong, but he pauses. “Everyone I cared about was gone.”

You feel a tear escape despite your best wishes. “But it was my fault,” you whisper. “If I’d –,”

Your father shakes his head. “I’m a shit father, but one thing I know is you can’t blame yourself. I tried, Lord, I tried. Things happen, sweetie, and sometimes, they’re bad. But not everything is bad. You’re back,” he whispers. “Thank you, merciful Lord.”

You shake your head. “I can’t stay.”

Peter nods. “Your daughter works with me, on a team designed for operations to save civilian lives. She’s a pleasure to work with, sir.” He tells your father.

He raises an eyebrow at this, but doesn’t say a word on that matter. Instead, he turns to Clint, and asks, “You’re the arrows guy from the Avengers, aren’t you too important to be hanging around these ones?” He smiles, throwing you a wink. Your chest flutters, your brain screaming, _oh my god my father is proud of me!_ on repeat.

Clint shakes his head. “No sir. I may be Hawkeye, but to these ones, I’m chauffeur.” He tips his imaginary hat, and adds to the pair of you, “I’ll be back at the bus when you’re ready.”

You smile. “Thank you, Clint.”

* * *

One day later, you’re off in the air, back on the way to the stratosphere and beyond to the interplanetary life you all led ahead. Drax makes no comment on the lack of outlaws on Earth (something he’s miffed about, since he didn’t get to meet John Stamos or Billy the Kid), and Groot has a potted pine tree beside him in his seat, a souvenir Rocket says he’ll “ _treasure forever or whatever_ ”, and had made friends with a new Avenger named Wanda, who found him a delight. Gamora had sparred with your idol, and boasted that the redhead was in good form to defend her planet.

Peter and you were silent. He’s piloting, focused. You’re moseying around the record collection they’d shared, trying to find the right music for the team to fight to (it’s surprisingly good for morale). But as you’re flicking through the tapes of The Beatles and Van Halen, he places a hand on your knee.

“You okay?” He asks.

You nod. “Better than okay,” you admit. “Kind of…fantastic.”

Peter grins. “I wasn’t sure. Your thinking face kind of gives off other vibes.”

You laugh. “There’s a word for that on Earth, I think. I can’t remember it.” You pluck out a tape labelled _The Clash_ in the handwriting of Tony Stark. “Play this. Chip always liked them.” He takes the tape, sliding it into the player. “How about you, you okay?”

Peter nods, just as _London Calling_ begins to play. “She’s not just another grave in the ground. As long that I remember her, she’s not gone. She’ll always be in me.” He shakes his head, laughing at his wording. “Sounds pathetic.”

You shake your head. “No, it doesn’t. You’re human, Peter. It’s a part you.” You turn over your shoulder, seeing the other Guardians. Drax has a crossword book he picked up from somewhere, and seems to get the gist of what to do with it. Groot is smiling happily with his potted plant. Rocket is making sure that Groot doesn’t hurt himself, mothering the tiny _flora colossus_ , as always. Gamora is tapping her foot to the beat of the tape. “It’s a part of all of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this part was as good to read as the previous one. I tried to add a little more humour into it, and fluff.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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